BitterSweet Kiss(es)
by Yui Miyamoto
Summary: [In progress - Ch. 2] Snapshots of Victor's encounters with the young Yuri Plisetsky before he moves to Japan to become a coach.
1. Chapter 1

**Fandom: Yuri! on Ice  
Title: Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).  
Pairing: Victor + Yuri Plisetsky  
Rating: pg-13  
Description: Snapshots of Victor's encounters with the young Yuri Plisetsky before he moves to Japan to become a coach. **

**Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).  
By Miyamoto Yui  
**

 **Part 1 – ангел. (Angel.)  
**

"What does he mean I'll know who it is when I get there?"

Begrudged, the silver-haired teenager strolled briskly down the brick path lined with street lamps in the middle. They were the kind seen in classic movies shaped like two white candles on top of a greenish-brown candelabra. Leaves of red and orange cracked under his leather shoes as he smoothed out his gray vest.  
As he passed by the bread shop that divided both sides of the lane, his irritation slightly rose. The smell of fresh dough filled his nostrils when, as if cruelly timed, a customer walked out of the shop. He had eaten already, but was still hungry so he decided to get a snack when Coach Yakov interrupted him to go run an errand.

There was no possible way he could refuse his instructor's request: They were unquestioned and absolute. Besides, Yakov knew the young man was dying to know who the new recruit was going to be. The laissez-faire attitude he showed to the world bared no resemblance to the relentless competitor buried deep within. Between the both of them, Yakov compared him to the Sirin, delicate and beautiful as a woman, graceful as a bird, yet dangerous because of those traits too. Maybe that was why the coach knew how he had a natural penchant for things dually vicious and sweet, whichever order it came as long as they were existing together in the same entity.

Finding the light brown door with six small glass squares at the end of the street, he knocked on it and carefully stepped in. A voice came from down the short hallway. There was another corridor to the left of that doorless threshold and to the right, a black chair and a small oak table with an arrangement of pink roses, red gerbera, and Viking spray chrysanthemums.  
The conversation ended when the female voice disappeared into another room and a door clicked.

The light at the end of the hall beckoned him and so he took a step towards it even though there was nothing but silence. Unknowingly, a fleeting thought passed when instinct said to turn back, that things would never be the same once he entered that room.  
When he was about to cross over the line where the beige carpet turned into spotless wooden boards, the teenager immediately stopped. Under a soft glow of sunlight, a white curtain waved when the breeze blew in. He caught his breath as his eyes averted away from the reflection of the mirror to look at the still being standing at the corner of the room.

 _An angel…_

The tiny figure had its eyes as if in a trance. The left arm extended into his direction, index finger pointed out as the middle finger dipped. With a wonderfully curved back, it was easy to see the contours of ribs and the tiny waist, leading to a perfectly straight left leg pointing backwards while the right one was poised as if in a 90 degree angle, toes facing right. The other hand was pressing on the bar rather than holding onto it. Threads of gold aligned together against the chin, revealing baby cheeks that showed a faint blush over the translucent, ceramic-like white skin.  
Sadly, the lips didn't smile, hiding away the grimace brought by the pain of posing.

Being called beautiful was a daily occurrence for Victor Nikiforov, but he'd somehow diverted through life without fully understanding its true meaning. Well, that was certainly until today.  
The whole scene was beyond something only visual, taking over his senses with a feeling of comfort in a contained frenzy. (Or was it the other way around?) It was like someone was brushing a warm paintbrush of colors over his heart. It simply pulsated something indescribable.

 _If there's only one truth in this world,_ he learned, _beauty justifies its own existence. No wonder people go crazy for it…_

His eccentricity had pushed away the reasons why people had loved his skating in the first place. In other words, 'breathtaking' had now gone from an empty gesture into an overwhelming emotion in and of itself. Oddly, he was nearly clueless as to why the public was fascinated with him. He thought it was because of his ingenuity and imagination.  
No one saw beyond the performance anyway. The Victor of the glittering, icy stage was elegantly handsome and self-assured while the one on the street was always puzzled about how to relate to people, always half-guessing if his actions were correct.

All the while being very concentrated on his training, the 'angel' had failed to notice the staring visitor, who later went out to sit in a chair.

The woman returned to the home studio and informed her pupil that the person who was picking him up had arrived. So, the little one took his sweaty towel from the bar and glanced over at the open threshold, having no recollection of how or when the person came in.  
While waiting, Victor's earlier frustration had transformed into something quite different…

When 'Angel' appeared in the hall, he turned out to be a mere boy! And Victor was even more perturbed that as they said goodbye to the boy's teacher and stepped out into the street, he couldn't control his teenage issues. He wanted so much to suppress the urge to blush and prayed that the boy wouldn't notice.

"It was coach who told me to come get you," Victor explained, trying to act smooth and aloof at the same time.

"I didn't know they would send you."  
"Hmm?"  
They stopped and the boy looked up with Victor getting a full view of the boy's face, which he'd tried to avoid earlier. He again took a long drawn out breath to keep himself grounded. The two transparent, turquoise crystal eyes caught him off-guard. (It would be only weeks later that he'd understand these eyes changed towards being more blue or green, depending on the lighting. And that the attitude behind them, no matter how see-through, was completely opaque.)  
"You haven't told me your name yet," the boy said as they started walking again.  
"Victor Nikiforov," he answered at catching the word 'name' just in time.  
"Oh, so it is you."  
"Excuse me?"  
"The one from the newspaper my grandfather reads."  
"And what's your name again?" Victor had completely blanked out when they'd been introduced.  
"Yuri Plisetsky." He tilted his head and a small smile appeared on his pale pink lips.  
"Yes…well, we're almost there."  
They walked towards the ice skating rink quietly.

Now completely oblivious to his surroundings, Victor kept on stealing glances at his temporary charge. Today was Yuri's trial day, if he'd wanted to join their group. He'd heard about the countless offers made daily to this little one, whose ballet training adjusted his posture quite nicely, complete with an air of confidence that only precocious children held.

But how could he have known that Yuri didn't need any convincing? After all, he was the one who had asked to come in the first place.

 **Tsuzuku…/To be continued…**

 **Author's note** : This fic came about a month ago. Somehow, it would revolve and come back to mind, though I'd written nothing. Just images popped up.

I really wanted to try something I've never done before.

Thank you for reading!

Love,

Yui

1/27/2017 3:31 AM – Los Angeles

1/27/2017 8:31 PM – Tokyo


	2. Part 2 - My Pride

**Fandom: Yuri! on Ice  
Title: Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).  
Pairing: Victor + Yuri Plisetsky  
Rating: pg-13  
Description: Snapshots of Victor's encounters with the young Yuri Plisetsky before he moves to Japan to become a coach. **

**Bitter/Sweet Kiss(es).**

 **By Miyamoto Yui**

 **Part 2 – My pride.**

If it could all be traced to one single thing, then it was hearing his grandfather's laughter.

As the twilight approached outside of their apartment, snow took over the city carrying its own low-toned melody. The tiny snowflakes quietly coated everything like magical powdered sugar. They had been falling non-stop for two days with, according to the meteorologists, one more to go.  
To keep from freezing over, the rotating heater was brought out into the living room. And for good measure, a water boiler too was set on the kitchen counter for hot tea, coffee, or cocoa at a moment's notice.

However, the rosy-cheeked boy paid no attention whatsoever to the weather.

As usual, his stuffed amber-orange cat Caramel sat next to him. The ends of his blond bangs swept off the concave edges, leveled with the surface of the coffee table that had been cleared off into a makeshift highway.  
Monitoring every detail, pairs of ocean and marble green eyes watched the two plastic vehicles chase one another violently. With all its might, the getaway purple coupe fell in a blaze of glory just as the patrol car screeched to a stop at the end of the cliff, stunned at the flames eating all the purple paint away.

"Boom!" The tiny boy crinkled his nose with excitement. Detective was the new favorite game he'd play whenever he came to grandpa's house.

But he was soon drawn out of fantasyland when his grandfather let out a bemused chortle. One by one, the boy's fingers slowly let go of his police car as he turned his head to the left. His gentle, yet solemn grandfather let out another jolly chuckle and he'd clearly seen it this time.  
Curiously, he looked away from the gleeful profile and the television screen finally caught his attention. A young man with shiny long silver hair in a ponytail was dressed like an everyday businessman, complete with suit and tie. It was the same outfit he'd seen going up and down the streets whenever they went for a walk to the park, grocery store, or occasional visit downtown to see his grandfather's friends.

Without his knowledge, it was the first time his heart skipped a beat.

Picking up one of Caramel's paws and dragging him along the faded emerald carpeted floor, he stood next to his grandfather. Tugging firmly on his corduroy brown pant leg, his grandfather reached down and picked him up to sit in his lap. Together, they watched the young man together.  
His lips were in a straight line, but his whole body emitted the pleasure he felt deep in his heart. In response, the audience members cheered and swooned. So whenever the crowd laughed, they did too.  
The young child didn't have any need for scores, theories and rationalizations filtered by expectations. He'd simply found delight in what was in front of him: Sharing in the young man's love of flying on the frozen snow. (Years had yet to pass until he'd realize the compulsive love affair the young man had everytime his blades kissed each country's frosty arenas.)  
There was something candid about this person. The boy didn't understand the names of the jumps and spins being announced, but they all looked fun. He even took a liking to the wordless piano song, trying to hum along.  
As the performer lifted both of his arms to the air in exasperation, he gave an exaggerated sigh. It made the little boy smile sweetly at the screen.

In the end, the young salaryman's illusion dissolved along with the fading jazz music. Leaning to one side with an imaginary cane, he had his chest out with one hand pulling on a golden pocket watch from the 1920's.

As the child and his grandparent briefly exchanged satisfied glances at one another, the television loudly erupted with cheers. Still watching the tv, his grandfather told him, "That one will be our national hero someday, Yurochka."  
"Hero?" His eyes blinked absently. It was a word for 'special people' though it existed hazily in his mind. Looking at the face on the screen again, he studied the androgynous figure who was now blushing at the kiss and cry and getting scolded by his coach.  
"He looks like a good boy." This time, his grandfather looked down and patted Yuri tenderly on the top of his head. "Just like you."

A month later, they watched the second half of the competition on tv together.

Over a succession of weeks, watching the young man's performances became his favorite pastime. His grandfather would find videos online or taped performances. Whether it was on a computer or a tv screen, he'd watch each routine over and over again as part of his daily routine.

"I can do that," he thought to himself while copying the moves on his little bed, using it as a big cushion in case he fell. Step-by-step, he'd been able to memorize long sequences, pretending to even skate on the kitchen floor with his socks to slide. Hours were spent to get the arm, leg, and head positions correct as well as the jumps, sometimes posing in front of the full-length mirror behind the bathroom door.

For two months straight at having seen his grandson so enthralled with his skating game, he came to his room.  
"You really like doing that, don't you?" His grandfather said as he sat on the side of the marigold comforter.  
"Mm hm!" Yuri propped himself next to him, cheeks flushed and breathing deeply at just figuring out the axel, or his version of it.  
Putting a protective arm around his waist so that he wouldn't fall off the bed, his grandfather asked, "Would you like to try skating on real ice, Yurochka?"  
"Really, Grandpa?!"  
Grandfather nodded and that afternoon, they drove through lightly falling snow. Snowflakes fell on the green compact car and melted into water drops. He watched the mini streams on the dashboard as his heart fluttered all along the journey towards his first ice rink.  
After paying their admission fees, they rented some skates, but Yuri's eyes widened at the sharp blades and flinched at the tightening of laces to find the perfect fit.  
They slowly walked up to the small swinging door, but at the entrance, the pressure proved too much. Seeing the wideness of the oval shaped rink along with the confusing groups of people, Yuri held onto the side and began to cry. His legs began to shake at the fear of falling; there were no cushions to protect him from the hard ice.  
"Don't worry. I'll be holding your hand the whole time."  
"You won't let go?" His shaky hand gripped as hard as it could, feeling the warmth of his grandfather's palm.  
"I promise."  
"Hmm…" He thought for a moment and saw the other children who were skating around with worried, yet ecstatic expressions. "Okay."

 _Grandpa promised._

Holding hands and touching the barrier, they began to spend their weekends there (with the first few repeating a shorter teary version of the first). Those tearful days led to many giggling others until Yuri announced, "I want to try it myself."  
"All right. I'll watch you from behind."  
His conflicted feelings came out in a wistful smile, worrying on end as he watched on from a few feet behind his grandson. If he had to run and jump to catch Yuri, he'd still be able to do it. The young gruff guy who'd skated casually decades ago still lived on somewhere in his old body. Then, he sighed at the thought that Yuri's mother was missing this precious moment, but even more than this, it was the start of Yuri's independence.

 _He's starting to do things without me…_

His eyes watched with a hawk-like attention as Yuri wobbly patted the sides, somehow avoiding the other skaters. Teenagers and adults carefully passed him as his grandfather followed quietly, ready for anything. But after a few minutes, Yuri's grandfather heart was ready to burst with pride when he went past Yuri to their finish line. Lifting him up and out of the crowd's way, he proudly displayed Yuri and hugged him tightly.  
Looking down at his grandfather's elated expression, Yuri was on cloud nine, grinning from ear to ear.  
"I did it, I did it~!"  
"Yes, I saw it, Yurochka!"  
Laughing wholeheartedly, their cheeks touched.  
While putting him down on the bench, Yuri said, "Next week I won't touch the sides."  
"I'm sure you won't."  
Pulling on the shoelaces, Yuri's beaming face watched as his grandfather took off their skates.  
"Tonight, I will make piroshki."  
"YEA~!"

Between their weekend outings, the negotiations for skating lessons started with his mother. Soon after, ballet followed as well.  
His grandfather was thrilled, offering to drive him to and fro to both his lessons because Yuri's frowns from not seeing his mother so often turned into smiles every time he mastered a new move.

Even after joining kindergarten, he couldn't wait to go play at the ice rink, and was excited when the ponds they visited were beginning to harden. He loved skating outside the best, especially at a secret forest lake they'd found.

Another winter arrived and with new themes, Victor was on tv again.  
"V-I-C-T-O-R," Yuri spelled aloud as his skating idol's name flashed on the screen. He knew these letters so well at school and his teachers soon found out why.

Overtime, Victor's name became saturated with multiple titles from various competitions. But each time he appeared before the public, he reinvented himself over and over. The alluring figure flitted around everyone's eyes like a butterfly, but they couldn't ever truly catch its true essence.

Yuri was vaguely aware of Victor's developing body, only noticing the routines becoming more difficult because he never became tired of watching them and seeing how fast he could learn each one. And when he himself had grown as tall has his grandfather's waist, he was old enough to write letters. With Caramel on his lap, he held a large red crayon, finding out it was one of Victor's favorite colors. The white piece of paper on the table stared at him.

Five drafts later, he was content with the last one and brought it to his grandfather, who smiled a bit at the thought of his grandson writing to his idol.  
"Don't read it, Grandpa!"  
"Okay, okay. I won't."  
Putting it into an envelope, he instructed Yuri on how to write the address.

 _I'll show them…_

 _"_ _Oooh~! Yuri said he loves Victor! Victor's a boy's name! You can't like a boy!"_

Looking at his classmate curiously, Yuri wondered why that had mattered. He couldn't quite understand why, but in his gut, he was angry. Outside his grandfather's warm apartment, he still didn't know how the world worked yet, that there was a way to act and that you could feel the complete opposite of that.

Not wanting to disappoint his grandchild, he still sent the letter off the next day. After all, what harm would it do? Considering the hundreds of letters from followers around the world, he was sure that the famous young man probably wasn't the one answering all of them anyway. He was still finding a good way to explain that Yuri shouldn't be upset if the skating superstar didn't respond back.

That was not the case however. Victor was always interested in riding the cusp of people's wants, forming new challenges to conquer from their pattern of thoughts mixed with his crazy ideas.  
It took a few weeks, but in between interviews in the UK and America, he replenished his energy by reading fan letters or opening boxes of presents. However, he never read them in order and chose the ones that were the most fetching.  
His fingers reached out for a simple red envelope. Holding a small Japanese letter cutter shaped into a katana, he sliced through the top of the envelope. There were two papers. He unfolded a big colored drawing of a child and himself skating in what was clearly Moscow. Victor smiled and glanced at the return address to make sure. Afterwards, he read the small letter bordered with stars.

"To Mr. Victor Nikiforov,

I think you are very cool. My grandpa and I always watch you on tv. I want to meet you and skate with you. I like you. I will marry you someday.

From Yuri."

 _How cute…but is Yuri a boy or a girl?_

He'd gotten love letters, marriage proposals, any kind of letter imaginable, both decent and indecent. But it was the first time a child had written. Its purity was cleansing, considering all the business pitches he'd had to sit through when all he wanted to do was skate.  
Victor placed the drawing and letter back into the envelope. When he got up, a sky blue envelope slipped out of the stack. Picking it up from the floor, this one too was also marked "To Mr. Nikiforov", but it had a Japanese address.

"Dear Mr. Nikiforov,

Hello. I am a great admirer of yours.  
Each performance is wonderful, especially the one where you were playing a phoenix who was burning in its own flames. I was very moved by your expressions. You always look so happy when you are on the ice.  
Someday, I wish to skate like you."

He couldn't read the address and whomever wrote it, they forgot to sign it.

Holding both letters in front of him, his eyes averted to one side, thinking of the past…

 _"Why do you always dress weird?"  
"You're so frigid. Don't you care about anybody?."  
"…worse than a stalker."  
_

 _vs.  
_

 _"He's a fashion icon for skating."  
"Such a genius for his age~!"  
"What talent doesn't he possess for this sport?"_

Victor wiped his eyes with the back of right hand, still grasping onto the letters tightly.

 _Why am I crying?_

Empty flatteries had become a part of everyday existence, so when his heart stirred at such simple words, his tears wouldn't stop. For many years now, he'd immersed himself in the one thing that wouldn't fail or reject him. How could he have ever known that the high price to be so well-loved would be the same thing he'd be rejected for?

 _I will marry you someday…I was very moved by your expressions…_

Kissing each of the envelopes, he crossed over into another room. He wouldn't place it in the usual pile of mail. Sitting on his bed, he bent over to open the drawer of his nightstand.

The note from his idol scribbled in pencil.  
The friendship bracelet from multicolored yarn.  
The silver bookmark with a chocolate velvet rabbit illustration…

He smiled as he placed these letters with other mementoes he'd collected over the years.

 _These letters will become part of my pride._

In the middle of the night, he took a taxi to go practice. A new exhibition piece was forming in his head as he thought of those two faces watching his new signature move.

"I wonder if I can make something they can enjoy."

Sweat poured down his face, but the grin overpowered all the fatigue as he stretched his arms in opposite directions and bent his knee to position himself for the flip. Pushing the pick into the ice, he crossed his arms together, imagining the two letters there…

 _How nice it would be if I could meet you two._

 **Tsuzuku…/To be continued…**

 **Author's note:** I'm really enjoying making these chapters. They bring up new emotions I've not explored yet, and I find myself discovering a pairing I'm growing fond of.

I also find myself crying and smiling at the same time.

Thanks for reading!

Love,  
Yui

2/3/2017 12:10 PM – Los Angeles  
2/4/2017 5:10 AM - Tokyo


End file.
